


For a Man should Walk Tall

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [39]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers, Brothers being brothes, Gen, Humor, Worldbuilding, clone culture, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Torrent Company kits out their new ARCs in true Vode tradition: with celebration, beer and brotherly hassling.
Series: Soft Wars [39]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 42
Kudos: 626





	For a Man should Walk Tall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chrysalis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554156) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



“Respectfully, sir,” Hardcase insists in tone and words that say that whatever comes next is probably going to be disrespectful, “you can’t veto my flamethrower. Kix says drunk people don’t get decisions.”

“Kix is not in this conversation,” Kix says promptly. “Kix wants nothing at all to do with this conversation. And Kix would like to remind the people he’s not in conversation with that he was talking about body mods.” Still, it’s sort of gratifying to see that _someone_ occasionally listens to Kix’s lectures, even if it’s just to try to use them in later arguments.

On his more cynical days, Kix thinks that might be the _only_ reason anyone listens to his lectures. Well that, and brothers tend to be a captive audience for him. Lectures can last as long as Kix can drag out an STD-antibiotics shot and frankly, he’s gotten pretty darn good both at dragging those out and making em sting if he does say so himself. He’s quite proud of that: hypos are designed to be painless.

“I could _insert_ a flamethrower-”

“L.T.,” Captain Rex interrupts before Hardcase can say anything that would morally obligate Kix to strangle him. “Let me be honest with you. I could be down every limb, hemorrhaging from literally every orifice and on enough drugs that I’m considered contraband on every single populated planet in the Republic. And when they ask me if I want to leave any words as remembrance for my vode1, I’m going to tell them ‘don’t let Hardcase have a flamethrower’.”

Hardcase curls sullenly into his corner on the floor. “The General would let me have a flamethrower,” he grumbles.

He would. He most definitely would, and would absolutely fool himself into thinking it’s a good idea. Kix makes a mental note: update Hardcase’s file to claim a lethal allergy to all forms of tibanna fuel used in flamethrowers, just in case Kix needs to flex some medic authority later.

The Captain meets Kix eye and toasts him with his bottle. Kix toasts back. It’s a full time job, keeping these idiots alive long enough to even find the Seps. All hail the Preventers-in-Chief. Kix drains his bottle and clunks it down in the bucket they brought for empties.

“Dark or light?” The Captain asks. The cooler is still considerably more full than the bucket. That’ll change, and likely faster than is medically recommended.

Kix shrugs. “Surprise me.” He catches the tossed drink, checks the label. He can’t read whatever that’s supposed to be. Oya2 liver! He pops the cap on the reinforced edge of a crate, knocks it back. It’s a light. Spends more time bubbling in Kix’s nose than dropping alcohol in his bloodstream, in his professional opinion.

A round of raucous laughs echoes tinnily across the armor stockroom.

It’s not considered polite to pay attention to another cluster of brothers if you’re in clearly demarked groups. Comes from growing up under observation with most of your life in the same rooms as every other brother in your age range. When you clustered, every brother understood that it was considered private, even if others were in the same room and could technically hear you.

That thought never quite applied to medics though. The right to know if someone was being a jackass and if Kix would need to haul out one of his packs overruled any vod’s attempt at privacy at any time. Kix rolls to his feet to get a better sight line.

Domino’s clustered around and over stacks of crates of old Phase 1 gear. They’d probably started out using the boxes as seats, Kix thinks. By now though they’ve been drinking long enough that they’ve, to a man, half melted over their perches, arms and legs hanging loosely over the sides. They’d gotten here far earlier than the officers had, and have far fewer compunctions on what impressions they’d give stumbling back to quarters when they left.

ARC Trooper Cpl Fives is in place of dubiously-named pride in the middle of the knot of them. He’s doing… something that involves pointing both fists to the left, ducking his head and thrusting his hips to make his newly-painted kama flutter. He’s either dancing, Kix muses, or being electrocuted. He’s not sure which is worse.

Cpl Hevy is reclined on the tallest stack and meets Kix eyes over his brothers’ heads. He grins sheepishly. _‘All clear’_ he battlesigns.

‘ _Hydrate’_ Kix signs back briskly. The Corporal grins and salutes with a beer can.

“Anyone dying?” The Captain could check for himself; commanding officers get the same exemptions as medics but their Captain trusts his officers’ judgments and likes to give his troops as much privacy as he can. He’s a good man, their Captain.

He’s spread almost lazily atop an empty emergency supply locker, legs lying loose and easy in front of him, elbow of the arm holding his bottle thrown carelessly over a crate of Phase 2 visor pins. It’s the most relaxed Kix has seen him in a long, long time.

“Not yet,” Kix pronounces and falls back onto his own crate of P2 HUD calibrators. As if anyone who wears a P2 bucket has ever bothered to calibrate the HUD. He tucks his ankles up under his thighs, grins wryly down at his Captain. _“_ Give it ten hours and get back to me.”

Captain Rex throws back his head and laughs. He’s well aware of Kix’s opinion on a medic’s ability to treat stupid, especially when stupid wants treating at o-kark-thirty. Kix is willing to hand out fluids and vitamins, but dumbasses don’t get analgesics.

“Boo!” Hardcase jeers suddenly, and that’s the first Kix notices Jesse’s slunk his way back. “ _Boo_! You’re a karking disappointment! Your tube just literally depowered itself in shame. Go get someone to adopt you so your parents can _denounce you in shame_.”

Kix regards Jesse and playfully sneers. “Did you get lost? Looks like you didn’t find where we keep the clearly labeled racks of ARC shells.”

“Up both of yours simultaneously,” Jesse shoots back. “Don’t have a reason to dress like I stuck magnets up my ass and rolled through a scrap yard. I got what I need.”

“You _didn’t change anything_!” Jesse sets his armful of paint cans and his blank white ARC bucket down to flip Hardcase off with both hands.

It’s not _entirely_ true. The mold of an ARC Trooper’s chestplate curves differently, made in more parts than either P1s or 2s. The greaves are cut differently, both where they meet the kneeplates and the boots. But Jesse’s sporting none of the accessories he’s now authorized for. His bracers are suspiciously bare; Kix thinks he might have just grabbed another set of P2s.

There’s one blue paint can and one gray. A pair of paint brushes. No mixing sticks or plates. Kix is suddenly very sure that Jesse’s new white armor is about to sport exactly the same dual-color design as his old P2. He’s not sure why that pisses him off.

“Veto.”

Jesse eyes him much like he would a shiny who just yelled 'Watch this': amused condescension.

“Overruled,” he pronounces slowly. He smirks and Kix’s teeth clench. “I’m the only one with a say.”

“Veto.”

The Captain takes a long pull of his bottle, ignoring all three sets of eyes locking on to him. They should get him drunk on the regular, Kix thinks. It’s all too often a battle to figure out what the Captain’s personal opinion is about anything.

Jesse pulls himself into his full, indignant height.

“With all due respect Captain.” That phrase again, Kix thinks. He doesn’t know why anyone bothers with it. Jesse’s shading quickly to angry. “You don’t get to veto my shell. No one does.”

“I’m not vetoing your shell, Lieutenant,” Captain Rex drawls. “I’m vetoing your habit of self-deprecation.”

That, it seems, punches the plasma right out of Jesse’s laser cannon.

“You are an ARC trooper,” he continues mercilessly. “You worked and bled and suffered for it. You are elite, you’ve _been_ elite and now the army officially recognizes it. It’s about time you do.”

Jesse makes a cut off noise of _something_. He’s shuffling his feet and can’t seem to settle his sights on any one thing, especially the Captain.

Kix takes some pity on him, nudges Jesse’s arm with his half-drunk bottle. Jesse takes it and wordlessly drains it.

“You’re going to go back in there. And when you come out, everyone here is going to keep their deece holsters shut about whatever shell it is you drag back. But you better make _damn_ sure what you come back with is something you’re proud of.”

“Fuck you too sir,” Jesse says wetly. Hardcase digs up another bottle, pops open the top. Jesse drains that too.

The Captain gestures threateningly with his bottle. “I’d want to think this is more because you invited me to your armoring as your friend.”

Jesse laughs. “Well then fuck you too Rex.”

Captain Rex pings a bottle cap off his left pauldron. Jesse dings him in the chest with a paintbrush.

A polite ‘I’m here’ tap on close by crates interrupts them before they can descend into all out war.

Hardcase was gearing up to dual wield empty bottles. A second later and Kix would have been forced to break some bucket-fillers, one of which might have been technically higher ranked.

“Sorry, we interrupting? We can come back.”

It’s Jesse’s cluster, so it’s Jesse that answers. “On a break boys,” he says. He tips his head invitingly. “Made the mistake of soliciting some input.”

Cpl Echo smiles. “Haven’t really seen that end well sir,” he cheerfully agrees. From several feet back, Cpl Fives snickers. They likely have very recent experience with exactly that.

The two seem nervous, Kix thinks. Steady on their feet so not wasted, unless ARC training included how to fake being less drunk. But. Hesitant. Cpl Echo is only wearing one of his new shoulder guards and fidgeting with the other. Even with the implied invitation, Cpl Fives hangs back.

At Kix’s feet, Hardcase straightens up. He’s clocked it too, and Kix is again reminded of how far he’s come since those first shiny days.

“Hey Echo,” he says warily, “something up?”

Jesse’s eyes have gone past them, looking for trouble likely. The rest of Domino has already cleared out.

Cpl Echo shifts, starts to turn as if to look back at Cpl Fives. He stops himself, firms his chin. His fingers spasm on his shoulder guard.

“I had a thought,” he said, as if the words had been rehearsed. He looks at Rex, expression determined almost on the edge of a glare. “Torrent’s got a reputation to uphold. Doesn’t look great if we let our Captain go around looking shabby.”

Oh.

Oh these _ballsy,_ ballsy boys. Kix is stunned. Beside him, Jesse sucks in a sharp breath. Hardcase stirs, confused, and Kix taps a heel against his rerembrace to keep him from standing.

“Shabby.” Captain Rex smiles that smile that Kix has learned means things are about to get interesting.

Cpl Echo hesitates for a second, no more, and pushes ahead. “Yes sir.” He gestures pointedly at Rex’s single shoulder guard. “Looks a bit worn sir.”

Cpl Echo is wearing one black shoulder guard. The guard in his hand is Rex’s blue.

“Be willing to swap that out for you, if you want.”

_That_ Hardcase picks up. He hisses in what sounds like horror. “Force, _Echo_.” Kix relates.

Echo doesn’t react, locks his knees, holds his ground and the _beskar_ _pair_ on this man is terrifying. Slowly, slowly enough that Kix is sure he’s hearing his own pulse from the suspense, Captain Rex tilts his head, bares his neck where the shoulder guard connects.

It’s Cpl Fives that lets out the explosive breath. Cpl Echo nods, acts as if that was entirely expected.

Kix doesn’t know if this is the trait of an ARC, or if this was what the Captain saw in them that made him take the chance on them. Either way, he makes a note to get to know these two.

Cpl Echo isn’t shy, isn’t _respectful_ with his distance. He plants a knee on the storage chest, between Captain Rex’s legs, and leans in to his space, fingers not afraid to brush the skin of his neck to unbuckle the clasps of the shoulder guard. This isn’t a Corporal to his Captain. This is vod to vod. A cluster of two.

Kix looks away. Hardcase shifts against his leg. He only sees the back of Jesse’s shoulder.

“Y’know sir,” Kix hears. “Pauldron’s looking a bit scuffed too.”

Cpl Fives.

“Sith fucking hells,” Jesse breathes.

Hardcase giggles.

“Fuck,” Kix agrees. Who the _hell_ on Torrent would ever, _ever_ work up the gut to ask their Captain to pass his armor down to them.

Cpls Echo and Fives, apparently. Kix kicks Hardcase’s shoulder. “Hit me.” Hardcase blindly tosses him a bottle, snags another for Jesse.

Shuffling behind them. “What’s it say?”

“It’s a recipe for uj’ayl3,” Captain Rex says, amusement in his voice. “Written in archaic Drall. Life lesson for today gentlemen: Commander Cody is a troll and not nearly as funny as he thinks he is.”

Kix has to press a knuckle to his head and breathe carefully after that. Force, it’s like all his foundations are getting tremors today.

“Pauldron was new from stock though," the Captain continues. "Come find me in the morning, I’ll write something in it for you.”

Kix waits until it sounds like the pair have scurried off, until the last of their footsteps fade.

“You decent yet Captain?” He says, snide.

Captain Rex laughs again. “Your delicate little eyes are safe,” he says like the karking troll he claims the Marshall Commander is. Kix glares at him.

He looks awfully smug. More, somehow, than Kix thinks the gleaming shoulder guard sitting above a shining pauldron should have been able to accomplish. He’s so good at being the GAR's ideal Captain, sometimes Kix forgets the times he’s seen proof the man underneath is a viciously possessive one. He reclines as a predator, glutted on the knowledge that he wears the marks of two of their ARCs, and that they wear his.

Captain Rex’s eyes slip past Kix’s. Jesse stiffens. Whatever the Captains sees in him, it makes the smug roll to his smile deepen.

“Hurry back, Lieutenant,” he says. He _purrs_. “You look like you might have something to ask me.”

Possessive, Kix thinks, and fully unable to resist the lure of having the whole set.

Jesse slams his bottle down, barely an inch from Kix’s hand. He shoots the scout a glare that goes unnoticed

“Better be quick about getting out of that left cuisse4, _Rex_ ,” Jesse snarls.

Captain Rex’s laugh follows him out, loud and ringing. “Oya, Jesse!”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Brothers. Back  
> 2\. General expression of encouragement. Lit. Let's Hunt! Back  
> 3\. A thick scented syrup used in Mandalorian cooking. Back  
> 4\. (English) The part of armor covering the leg above the knee. Back  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wishes and Prayers and a Limerick or Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145075) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506)




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